


Take Me Out

by seaquell



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:44:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2009682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaquell/pseuds/seaquell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta is one of the best agents of an espionage and law-enforcement agency. Katniss is a cunning archer that goes against everything B.I.R.D. stands for. For him to keep his job and for her to keep her life, they must find a way to coexist. Falling upon more than that, they become each other's salvation. But with the situations they face a bond like that can also be their downfall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

July 7th, 2014 | 2pm | Katniss

Each thump makes my blood boil. The more times my back hits the mat, the angrier I get.

 

My feelings aren’t directed at Annie, my current sparring partner, who predictably isn’t even giving me her best. She still manages to take me down time after time.

 

It isn’t because of the angry marks I feel creeping up my back, either. I have a salve at home that will fix them right up. It’s in a cabinet I’ve opened 2 times, at most.

 

I’m angry at myself. Delicate Annie Cresta does not have the moves to pin me to the floor. I do not need medicine. Ever.

 

I used to be angry at my handler for not giving me a mission in the last 3 months. But, as I struggle against Annie’s headlock, I get it. I’m not who I once was.

 

Who was I? I was one of B.I.R.D.’s most used human agents, spies, assassins, weapons, whatever sounds less deadly. There aren’t many of us, never have been, but a few months ago, after an espionage and law-enforcement agency much like ours went down, measures were taken and now many of their agents work for us. I’ve been here for much longer than that.

 

It’s impossible to have more than a few people working such a crucial job when you have this important thing called trust in mind. Once upon a time, I had a hard time earning that, but that is not the reason I haven’t been given a mission.

 

My reflexes are slower, I’ve lost weight, I get distracted a lot and suffer from insomnia. Things like that don’t go unnoticed around here, not with so many people counting on you. Even now I regret the decision to show my face and poor skills in this gym. Half the agents present are keeping an obvious eye on us, following every wrong move I make. If that is how cautious they usually are during surveillance, they’re not much better than me.

 

Maybe they are losing trust in me. Not the kind of trust they gave me years ago, when they were finally sure I wouldn’t steal an important gadget and sell it on eBay. Can I be trusted to get the job done anymore though?

 

Most of the missions on my file are completed. They always go quick, without much thinking done on either part. I don’t particularly like to waste my time and it’s hard for the victim to get in deep thought with an arrow pointed at their eye.

 

My skills with a bow are the only thing I had when I was brought here. I’m scared to find out if they’re gone too, just like my hand-to-hand combat abilities.

 

I’m lying on the floor, given up and speculating how bad of an idea going to the range with a bruised shoulder would be, when I hear loud footsteps. I jump up, throwing Annie off in the process. If it’s Haymitch, I’m literally done here.

 

My reflexes have chosen to wake up in the wrong moment, because it’s not my handler. Just another agent… as harmless as an agent can be, anyway.

 

“Alright Annie, I think you’ve kicked enough ass for today,” he says, smile evident in his voice, while I’ve chosen to stare at the ceiling. At least my face would be flushed just from the fight if it was Haymitch. Being unemployed would be less embarrassing.

 

“Is that my prize?” Annie asks with a matching grin, nodding to the bouquet of flowers I manage to get a quick glimpse of.

 

After a second of hesitance, he gently takes one primrose out and pushes it between her ear and her long dark locks. I look away again, upset. She would never understand the meaning of that flower. Nobody can except he.

 

“Thanks, I really needed the nice aroma in case I run in to Finnick on the way to the showers,” Annie tells him with a laugh. “He’d be so happy to see you. I am, too.” And with that, topped with a wiggle of her eyebrows in my direction I don’t even begin to interpret, she’s gone.

 

I lie back against the mat, covering my face with my hands, wanting to disappear or for him to disappear, which is ironic because I’ve been anticipating his return for longer than I’d like to admit.

 

Shortly, the smell of spring surrounds me until it gets so close to my nose, I have no choice but to follow the instinct and breathe in deeply. I hear his familiar chuckle right above me. He’s the one on top, yet I have the advantage. Without my eyesight, he’d never expect I’d go for it, so before he has the chance to open his stupid mouth and tease me, I flip him over.

 

The bouquet comes out surprisingly unharmed between our bodies. He’s still holding onto it tightly. Maybe he did expect this a little bit. We have known each other for a while.

 

"You got me flowers?" I ask breathily. His answer is a hesitant nod. He’s afraid I’ve changed. I have, but not when it comes to him, even if my actions so far have proved otherwise. I should be the one worried, it’s him that was sent abroad for months.

 

"Flowers die." I’m not fond of them, even though they’re a big part of my family. Plants aren’t meant to be used like this. Then again, how could he know what to get me or that he didn’t have to get me anything at all? The last time we went this long without seeing each other was when I was under interrogation and we weren’t really the type of friends that give each other gifts back then. I didn’t even know we are now.

 

"Well, I didn’t." His words snap me back to reality. More like my reality in the past months, one of the reasons I haven’t been getting enough sleep. During the day I ignore dark thoughs concerning his condition, but when the sun goes down, they creep in anyway. Now it’s daylight and he’s here. It awakens me. He’s here. His steady heartbeat under my palm is another much welcome proof of that.

 

"Peeta," I breathe out, looking down at the flowers. My frown disappears at the sight, but I bite my lip before my smile can register. "I didn’t die either, you know."

 

"Yeah, seeing your excuse of a low kick earlier, I don’t know how you managed that," Peeta says, not following my train of thought. He’s grinning up at me as if he stops I’d disappear. I take the flowers from him and bring them close to his face, much like he did while I was hoping he’d leave.

 

"You only bring an even number of flowers to a funeral." His groan tells me he didn’t think about the flower etiquette I’ve taught him when he did the gentlemanly thing by giving one to Annie. His manners and charm are his best weapons, but can sometimes also turn out to be a weakness. He has trouble eliminating targets he’s gotten close to, even if they’re bad people. That’s my job. Peeta’s the only good person in the situation.

 

"Sorry, sorry," he apologizes repeatedly, but I brush everything off with a laugh. I don’t care about these flowers. I care that he thought of them in the first place and, most of all, that he’s here. "Now I officially messed it all up. I went to you apartment first thing, but you weren’t there, so I had to call Finnick," he mutters, eyes on the ceiling.

 

"Why didn’t you just call me? I didn’t even know you were coming back today.” Or this year.

 

"I knew and I’ve known for a while," he admits, squirming under me nervously. "I just… I wanted to surprise you. I haven’t even gone to debriefing yet."

 

"You haven’t talked to Haymitch?" I jump off of him, standing up. My muscles protest at the sudden movement. Too baffled by Peeta’s actions to care, I hide my flinch by crossing my arms. “Why wouldn’t you go to him first?”

 

"Because, Katniss, in case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been gone for a really long time…" A really, really long time. "… and I don’t want the first face from here I see to be that old man’s." Peeta’s way of telling me he’s missed me. He knows I won’t respond to the actual words.

 

“Look, I’m in enough trouble already and if they find out you’ve talked with me before…”

 

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Peeta stops me from rambling any further, as he stands up and places his free hand on my shoulder. I lean into his touch. Yep, definitely going to need that salve. “Did something happen while I was gone?”

 

“I didn’t mess up during a mission or anything… but then again, I haven’t had the chance to,” I say quietly with a shrug, fingers nervously playing with my braid, which is falling apart. This conversation needs to be over. We shouldn’t be talking to each other and the last thing I want is for him to worry over me. So not the time for role reversals.

 

Peeta looks at me in disbelief, “You’ve been benched?”

 

“Not officially, but Haymitch wants to talk with me tomorrow. You and I both know there’s only two ways that’s going to go down – either I finally get given some job or I get cut.”

 

When I got harshly woken up by my phone ringing, I almost fell off the bed. My first thought was that something bad had happened to Peeta. I had imagined a thousand different scenarios, from having to identify his body to choosing the agent to substitute him, before Haymitch had put a stop to them with an order for me to show up tomorrow. It was as I was waiting for Annie, who I had called immediately, to show up with coffee, that I realized the bastard more than likely had gotten up early himself just to piss me off more.

 

Peeta squeezes my shoulder, making me hide yet another flinch. “There’s no way you’re getting fired. Not you, of all people. You’ve given them absolutely no reason. They barely blinked when Finnick let that bomber get away last year.”

 

“Yeah, well, Finnick has been paying for that mishap since then. Meanwhile, I’ve been getting my ass handed to me by his girlfriend!” Though my voice has been getting louder with every word I utter, I make sure girlfriend is barely audible. We can’t even joke about things like that. Though we both know our closest colleagues have crossed the “friends” line, in B.I.R.D. you’re not supposed to have a more complex relationship than that.

 

Peeta’s head is down for a moment as he thinks. He’s already taken my problems as his. That’s exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I would’ve preferred going through this alone than dragging him along for what will surely be hell.

 

“You should come with me now,” he says finally. “Haymitch’s always on his best behavior when I’m present. At least you think so.” Haymitch is always a pain in the ass, but it’s easier to handle with Peeta there, yes. Though, that might have to do less with their relationship, and more with mine and Peeta’s.

 

“We’d be risking too many things. He’d know we talked beforehand and you’ve had the chance to tell me something about your mission I have no right to know. I don’t think it was very proper of me to mention my own problems, either. Besides, my appointment is tomorrow. I can’t just show up when I want to…I’m not even sure that I do.”

 

Peeta sighs, but his shoulders remain tensed, as he looks down again, nodding his head. Something tells me he isn’t looking forward to seeing Haymitch. What exactly went down on his mission? I was too giddy over his physical health to think of how he might be mentally.

 

“I need to shower away the shame.” And the pain, though I doubt hot water will be efficient enough for my bruised body. “But you should come over later. I’ll cook you a “welcome home” dinner.”

 

“Do you want me to die?” My cooking, unlike my resent failed attempts at fighting, has never been very good, but I do know how to fix up a few things. He’s exaggerating.

 

“Oh, I have missed your wit.” Even though there’s nothing funny about death. Who would know better than us?

→ → → → → → → → → 

May 2nd, 2006 | 12pm | Peeta  


 

"Do you see her?" The same question in the same annoyed voice comes from my earpiece for the third time in the past five minutes. I know with such detail because I’ve been looking at the small arrow making its way around the clock since the moment the smell of fresh pastries became too hard of a reminder. The sudden flashbacks of my childhood are the reason for my impatience. Glimmer’s is probably due to the wind her hair has to be put through on the roof she’s positioned on.

 

“Trust me, you’ll know when I see her,” my lips move beneath the hand that’s stealthily covering my mouth. I try my best not to give away my own incredulity. There’s already something that doesn’t feel right about this mission. It sounded too easy – wait for the thief, grab them and bring them to us, Haymitch told us. Glimmer and I have both prospered in much more complicated situations. An easy task like this is usually given to either an experienced agent that works alone or a group of rookies. We are neither of these things.

 

“Alright, I think it’s time you two switch places.” I jump at the sound of my handler’s voice in my ear. The cashier behind the counter by the table I’m seated on raises an eyebrow at me and I try to play it off, straightening and focusing my stare on the book in front of me. Very stealthy, Peeta.

 

“What? Why?” Glimmer asks, saving me from looking like I’m talking to myself and freaking out even more people around me. She may be stuck in the cold outside, but we both know who gets the looser job between a sniper and an observer.

 

“This is taking longer than we thought. People are going to notice something is off with Peeta if you don’t move.”

 

“We have specific jobs. He gets the little thief and I’m here in case it goes awry,” Glimmer says. She’s past impatience now. Haymitch’s idea doesn’t sound very appealing to me, either. I’m great on the field, but only when it comes to interacting with people, not harming them. I always cave under pressure and I’m feeling stressed enough even in this atmosphere. This thief better not cause any trouble, so that there is no use of me because right now I’m not feeling very confident in my ability to complete the mission.

 

“No, you are both there with one goal – that girl. I don’t care how you achieve it, as long as you don’t leave a mess for me to clean up and that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t follow my orders.”

 

I stifle a sigh, ready to get up from my seat, but Haymitch’s voice stops me. “Glimmer, come down before Peeta moves so that we don’t accidentally miss the target entering the building. Peeta, wait 20 seconds after Glimmer is inside before you exit.”

 

I busy myself with finishing the piece of cake I ordered. It makes my stomach turn even more. Less than 5 minutes later, the doorbell rings, announcing Glimmer’s entrance. Our gazes stray from one another’s, mine focusing on the clock again. After 20 ticks, I stand up and leave.

 

Using the fire escape of the opposite building, I climb to the rooftop. The sight of the sniper rifle makes me gulp. I know how to use one, but I’ve never had to. Hoping that will still be true at the end of this mission, I make my way to the weapon and look through the telescopic sight. The magnified vision of the bakery, of Glimmer making small talk with the cashier, of all these innocent clients that could get hurt in the aftermath of my actions, makes me take a step back for a second.

 

“Peeta?” asks Haymitch. He has no view of me at the moment, but it’s like he has learned to know my movements just from my breathing.

 

I quickly grab hold of the rifle again. “I’m in position,” I say.

 

“Good,” Haymitch responds, sounding prouder than usual. Of course the more troubled I am, the more amused he is. At least that’s how I interpret his reaction.

 

The next few minutes are spent alternating between spying the sides of the bakery and taking a quick look inside to make sure everything with Glimmer is alright.

“Hey, maybe our little thief is having an off day.”

 

My focus on Glimmer’s words, I take a step back to think them through. And that’s when I see her. Concentrating too much on the details, I had missed the big thing. She has been making her way down the street for awhile now, while I had been busy searching for her at the front of the bakery. For some reason I had imagined her jumping from the roof or appearing from some dark corner, but it seems she does her business the “blend in” way.

 

To me, she still stands out and not just because my very job depends on recognizing her. I know how to read people both by physical and mental attributes. Her walk and her posture, which are the only two things that can help me judge her from here, tell me she’s tired in more ways than one. She’s trying to force self-confidence, but every second step she falters. Her eyes stray in too many directions. Nervousness. I can relate to her in that aspect.

 

“Glimmer, she’s coming your way,” I finally manage to say. “You have ten seconds.”

 

Through the telescopic sight, I watch as Glimmer stands up from her seat abruptly, not caring about the many witnesses. With the same manner, she tells me loudly, “Be ready.”.

 

I place my finger on the trigger, more focused than a moment ago. Haymitch can’t possibly be happy with the show my partner just put on, so if I blow the mission too, we will be stuck at level two for the rest of our careers, if we keep them.

 

Glimmer has about two steps to take before she is right in Katniss’ face. The thief knows she has nowhere to run to, but she still takes an abrupt step back.

 

With a sigh, Glimmer takes out her badge. “Protocol,” she says simply. With the magnified vision, I see Katniss’ eyes widen in fear as she examines the object. B.I.R.D. is new to her. She’s been chased by the police many times, caught, released, caught again, ran away, so by now she must have expected the FBI, maybe CIA. But they don’t deal with individuals like her. No, the honor comes to us.

 

I look lower for any hidden weapons, but all I find are trembling hands and unsteady feet. It’s hard to fit that image with the one described to me - an uncompromising, heartless, unwilling to stop no matter what, woman. The innocence and fear she irradiates could very well be just her cover, but she doesn’t look like a bad guy to me, not like the ones I’ve seen - brutal criminals, getting their death verdicts with sneers on their faces. This girl can’t be a minute older than me and it’s doubtful she’s hurt more people doing minor stealing than I have doing my honorable job. Why is she involved in this? Why when she knows the eventual consequences?

 

"You’re going to wipe that expression off your face now and walk with me to the black jeep at the end of the street," Glimmer demands coldly, linking her arm with Katniss’. To an outsider, they look like friends.

 

I sigh involuntarily, running a hand through my hair. My job is done. Another day that my reccuring nightmare doesn’t become reality. I’m just about to begin collecting the rifle to go and meet up with them at the jeep, when a quick movement grabs my attention. I don’t need telescopic sight to figure out what’s happening. Through Glimmer’s jacket, Katniss has felt the small knife my partner always carries in her pocket. The thief has it firmly in her fist for the second it takes me to yell out “Glimmer!” before she buries it deep in the hand of her abductor.

 

The first thing I’m alert to except for Glimmer’s blood running down the footwalk and Katniss running away, faster than I’ve seen anyone run, are people exiting from the bakery and other nearby buildings. If my scream didn’t alert them, Glimmer’s surely did.

 

"Peeta," Glimmer’s raspy voice comes from my earpiece. "Shoot her. I can still see her."

 

I wait for Haymitch’s instructions, anything. But my decision is inevitable.

 

"Damn it, put her down." That’s all that the bullet does - puts the victim to sleep until it wears off after 2 to 3 hours or until we awaken them after they’re transported to the right place. That’s the only thought that helps me load the rifle. While I search for Katniss, I come across many confused innocents that make me hesitate once more. The cashier from the bakery, wrapping a towel around Glimmer’s hand. A small boy, being picked up by his mother, as, who I assume to be her husband, runs to help. An elderly woman with two kids by her side calling for an ambulance. I get more lost and lost in their faces. Am I looking for Katniss at all?

 

"I can’t…," I’ve barely uttereted, before two identical black jeeps run down the street. B.I.R.D. The first parks in front of the bakery and a woman comes out, going to Glimmer. The second continues down the road. To finish my job. Nevertheless, Katniss Everdeen’s name on my file will be followed by "Mission failed".


	2. Chapter 2

July 7th, 2014 | 7pm | Katniss  
The bright yellow flowers look so out of place in my dark apartment. They literally did not have any place to be, before I finally decided to put them in the middle of the small square dining table, because I know it would make Peeta happy. I have just three rooms – a bedroom, a bathroom and a bigger one that is used both as a living room and as a kitchen. My furniture is limited, too.

 

It’s not that I don’t have enough money, because B.I.R.D. makes sure I do. Unlike Peeta, who has turned his own apartment into a nice place we often meet up with our friends at, I just don’t find any point in hanging paintings on my walls or having a bigger wardrobe. I’ve never been used to luxury and I refuse to turn into one of those superheroes that get private jets and mansions. Besides, this place doesn’t feel like a home and how could it when I’m constantly pulled out of it for work? This is the longest time I’ve been in the same bed every night – these past few months. I’ve even begun to turn the TV on when the nights get too silent. It would have been easier if it wasn’t for Peeta’s absence.

 

Somehow everything comes down to him. I don’t like to think me being out of shape has anything to do with him being gone. Though I do lean on him on some level, it’s solely as a co-worker that has my back. Going on a mission with other agents gives you more security and mental peace, of course, but you the person you should depend on the most is yourself and I know that. I’ve been without Peeta before and he’s been without me, both left here and sent somewhere else. That can’t be it and it’s not. I didn’t feel very well when he was here, either. It’s hard to concentrate when you fall asleep 2 hours before you are supposed to be awake. Insomnia is always worse than nightmares. At least if I have a nightmare, I can call Peeta. Therefore, his absence isn’t the reason. At least not the only reason.

 

I blame not my lessened hearing, but the steaming pot, when I don’t hear Peeta’s “too loud to be an agent” footsteps before his voice.

 

“Katniss!” His shriek might’ve been at the absurd view of me cooking in just a bra and sweatpants, but I’m not that lucky and it has to be even more embarrassing. I have my back to him, thus he can see the marks all over me, old and new. The instinct is to leave the food and run to my bedroom, but I don’t follow it. He won’t allow it and I’m too stricken to even turn around.

 

Putting on the salve earlier didn’t turn out to be as easy as I thought and I only managed to get my front, shoulders and lower back. I could see in the mirror the two spots I couldn’t reach that were slightly turning darker. And that’s just the visible damage. Annie doesn’t play around. Giving up on putting on a shirt is another proof of that. I bit my lip through the process, before I realized the material was too irritating anyway.

 

“Why didn’t you go to the medic?” I feel his hand on a small area on my back that hasn’t been hurt. His touch doesn’t feel bad when not on injured places and I shiver despite the hot steam from the pot. His hands are warm, even though he was just out in the windy summer night. I’d blame it on the bread I can smell that I’m sure he got out of the oven right before leaving, but I think he’s always warm.

 

“Because I’m me?” I try, turning to face him. He knows I’m too proud to ask for assistance. I hardly check up even after a not so easy mission. “It’s not as bad as it looks. If I keep using ointment, it’ll all be gone in a few days,” I assure, wanting his concerned gaze to go away.

 

“God, I don’t even want to see your legs.” Who would, after the tiniest glimpse of my messed-up body? “You should be lying down. Go rest, I’ll finish up here.” I want to protest, remind him of my promise to cook, but I’m too uncomfortable, so I just nod.

 

“Just so I know, what are we making here?” He calls to me, as I’m opening the door to my bedroom.

 

“The chicken and soup not enough of a hint for you?” I hear his infectious laugh even through the walls. He wouldn’t find it so funny if he knew the reason I chose to cook soup isn’t just because it’s quite easy. It’s also known as comfort food.

 

This time I know better so I ignore the shirts and choose a grey hoodie. It’s not as soft, but at least I don’t have to go through the pain of putting it on. Zipping it to my chin, I go back to the living room area. Peeta probably meant for me to go take a nap or something, but that’d be ridiculous. I invited him. Also, let’s face it, I’m so sick of us being away from each other and we are certainly not going to do that when we have no reason to. Not when we’re in the same country and not under the same freaking roof.

 

I will let him cook. Offering to do that for him was a ridiculous idea. The proposition was the only way I could think of to make him come over, since I don’t know how to admit I want to see him in any other way than to twist things. He is much better in the kitchen than I am, baking included. Probably not the most useful as an agent, but definitely my favorite skill of his.

 

Peeta doesn’t hear my light footsteps, but the sound of paper wrinkling does get his attention. I quickly tear off a big chunk from the raisin bread. I laugh through bites as he yelps my name for the second time today.

 

"I hate it when you do that," he scolds me. "There are knives for that, you know."

 

"Yeah, yeah. You should take it as a compliment, really. I just couldn’t wait to taste your bread." The words are barely out of my mouth, when I feel my cheeks flush violently. This is why Peeta’s the witty one. He doesn’t even laugh at my lame attempt, looking a little hot himself. I’d let him know of his appearence, but then he’d think he’s hot hot.

 

"Honestly," I try to recover. "I’ve missed real food."

 

“There’s a bakery just down the street… on like every street of NY, actually,” Peeta says, a smirk on his lips as he changes the temperature of the stove.

 

“That’s why I said real food. I watched a documentary last night. Did you know some people put hair in the dough?” I cringe just thinking about it. Even golden strands won’t make their products better than Peeta’s. “If I wanted to eat hair, I’d just grab some from the drain in the bathroom.”

 

“I think that’s just frozen pizza,” Peeta tells me with a laugh. “And as far as I know, you don’t eat that. Then again, I thought you didn’t watch TV either…” Busted.

 

“Ah, it helps me get through the lonely nights.” My tone is teasing, but by how fast the laughter disappears from his eyes, I can tell he knows there’s some truth to be found in my words. They’re not amusing; perhaps just a little, because they prove how pathetic I am. I used to find solace in the loneliness, in the dark night. Now, unless I can concentrate on the light from the TV, I’d be waiting for the natural light to show from my balcony.

 

The conversation drops, as Peeta finishes up in the kitchen and I give up on my resistance when my muscles protest and I just have to lie down on the couch.

 

“Do you plan on telling me what happened with Haymitch or will I have to torture it out of you? You know how terribly good at that I am.” I find myself smirking, even though it’s twisted. Judging by Peeta’s silence, he finds it even less funny than the inappropriate way I complemented his bread.

 

When his lack of response continues on for another few minutes, I’m on the edge of bugging him again. Good for him, he approaches me before I get to do so, handing me a neatly cut piece of bread. When he chooses to sit by my feet instead of under them, I hide my disappointment by munching greedily.

 

“Mission officially closed,” Peeta says in a tone that doesn’t suit him at all; the official one that never really leaves our handler’s voice. His gaze wonders far away from me, his thoughts too. A person who has just successfully completed a mission should not be thoughtful. Unless he isn’t done.

 

“I’m going tomorrow, too.” Immediately I open my mouth to protest, but Peeta silences me just as fast with his next words, “Haymitch wants me there. I didn’t mention our conversation or even your name once, I swear.” He doesn’t have to swear. I believe him. I always do.

 

“Now not only are they taking my position, but they’re giving it to you. If they plan for you to shoot with a bow, I’m quitting myself.”

 

“Right, because the last time I was allowed to do that, it turned out so well.” I duck my head to stifle the smile at the memory of that day in the woods. “Katniss,” he says more seriously, making my gaze lift upward again. “You’re over thinking this. Let’s remember our rule to avoid any talk of work when we’re together.” I want to pry about his mission, forgetting rules set both between the two of us and from B.I.R.D. But he looks so tired and resigned, like he would’ve come to me even if I hadn’t found a stupid reason for him to. He needs to be here as much as I need him to be. All I do is nod, locking away any curiosity or concern, but putting the key in a safe place, for a later conversation that’s sure to come.

 

It’s been so long since the last time we were alone together. All of a sudden I feel out of place in my own home. I’d mention our friends, but then that would lead to our occupation all over again; they all work with us, we can’t forget that. I’d ask him how he is, but that would stir the conversation back to whatever happened on his mission that he’s trying to hide; it’s obviously the reason for his strange mood. Was it this hard before? It couldn’t have been, we would’ve never become so close. It would’ve never worked out.

 

I study him. He really is so out of shape, that I have the perfect opportunity to gape at him without being stared right back. His body posture is as loose as it could ever get; he only lets his guard down this much when we’re alone (funny how that works, since we can’t stay two words to each other). His shoulders are more slumped than usual, I notice sadly. His scarred hands are playing with each other, making me wonder if it’s because something’s bothering him or he’s as unnerved about our sudden silence as I am. I’m both sad and happy that I can’t see the striking blue of his eyes, as he focuses all that’s left of his energy to his jittery hands. Peeta’s eyes are both my worst enemy and my best friend. Even if he was staring right into me, they’d still be the one feauture of him I can not read. When he closes off, there’s nothing I can do to open him up. All emotions leave his face. I wish he’d get rid of that habit just for me, since he helps me so much without even trying. All he has to do is lock those same eyes with mine, mutter a few reassurences and I’ll be stronger than the moment before, whether we’re in the middle of a mission or simply sitting on this couch.

 

I need his reassurence now. I’m so tired of this and desperate for the familiarity that sitting up on my knees, I literally collapse on him. Our arms wrap around each other instantly; mine around his neck, his around my waist. He must hear or feel my small hitch of breath, but still not want to move away, because all he does is get one warm hand under the soft material of my sweatshirt and start to massage. It feels so good, so impossibly good, that I know I will not be the first to let go.

 

He smells the same sweet way he always does and, as his shoulders relax under my grip, his presence becomes familiar too. My fingers run through his hair, messing it up, but I know he doesn’t mind. He never has and if nothing else has changed, I’m not too worried about this.

 

“I’m happy you’re here.” I’m more than happy you’re alive and here. But that’s not what he needs to hear.

 

“Me too,” I hear his whisper and the unspoken words echo in my mind: That I’m back from hell. But he would never let them slip out loud.

 

My grip loosens as the minutes go by and I begin to comprehend that he really is here with me. At least for now. Not unless he’s given another mission tomorrow, which would absolutely crush me… especially if I am left without one. I run my fingers up and down the exposed skin of his neck, like I know it comforts him, one last time before pulling away.

 

As Peeta goes to check up on our meal, I follow the warmth that surrounds him and make myself useful in the kitchen, too. The horrible feeling of being alone is still a recent memory. That reminder, plus the fact that our time together is ticking, give me the courage I’ve always felt I needed to truly let my guard down even in front of the person that’s closest to me. Not being ashamed to admit that sometimes I need someone else besides myself, I keep my gaze on Peeta as he gracefully stirs the soup and I take out the utensils that have been begging to be used since the last time I ate at home. I can’t even remember when that was. More than likely before Peeta left for his mission. Silence envelopes the room again, but this time it’s comfortable. Maybe we never did need to say much, after all.

 

When the soup is done, Peeta fills the only two bowls I own with it. It’s not a secret that if he wasn’t a regular guest of mine, I’d have only one bowl. I’m grateful that he places them right next to each other and I sigh when he moves the chair from the other end of the table to right next to me. I’m rewarded with the smile I was hoping for when I put the vase full of primroses on the table.

 

“They fit right in, don’t they?” I ask sarcastically, my words mirroring my earlier thoughts. Even the dark blue vase is in contrast with the bright yellow of the flowers.

 

“You could’ve put a tablecloth,” Peeta says and his unmoving smile tells me he doesn’t mean it as anything more than a witty response to my own witty question, but it still pierces me. I don’t have any tablecloths. Why don’t I have any tablecloths? I’m disappointed it takes me more than 2 seconds to answer my own question: Because this isn’t a home, Katniss. You don’t need unnecessary stuff like tablecloths or too many dishes or paintings or a gigantic wardrobe. Considering I was brainstorming about this very topic just a few hours ago, how fast I almost changed my mind really speaks about the unhealthy influence Peeta sometimes has on me. Is it unhealthy though? I won’t answer that, or Peeta’s statement.

 

The chicken soup goes great with the raisin bread and I am greedily gulping down the contents of my second portion as we settle on the couch. Peeta changes the channels on my TV and I’m too pleased that my feet are where I wanted them to be earlier, in his lap, to see if he’s just passing the time or actually looking for something. My couch and my bed are the only furniture I spent more than a few minutes picking out and every time my body touches their smooth surface, it feels like some of the lights in my brain go out.

I blame the distracting combination of his free hand massaging my aching foot and the comfy cushion beneath my head for my surprise at hearing his hitch of breath. I think Peeta himself is surprised he let himself go like that. But if I hadn’t closed my eyes, if I hadn’t been as selfish as I usually am, I would’ve seen it coming. He’s here with me, but not really. Though I don’t know what story his eyes tell, I know it’s not a good one. Hazy never means good.

 → → → → → → → → → 

August 15th, 2006 | 1pm | Peeta  
“You know, if this temporary unemployment becomes permanent, the cafeteria would be a great new working place for you. God know they need to change up their staff,” Delly tells me while taking out a bagel from the paper bag on her desk.

 

I force out a laugh, but my friend’s statement, however innocent, stings. It has been 3 months since my last mission, the easiest and most straight-forward mission I’ve been to since my early years, nevertheless went to hell. In that period of time none of the people that are in a higher level than me and could get me my next job have uttered a word to me. It’s the coldest kind of benching. Perhaps I should’ve taken this treatment as a dismissal and found another job, just as Delly laughingly suggested. Instead I’ve been torturing my body by working out and my mind by cursing myself for being a stupid coward.

 

“Oh, but then you won’t be the only one that gets a taste,” I remind with a smile, taking out the other sweets I’ve prepared for her, while she eats the bagel. No one can stay mad at Delly for too long. Though she’s one of the best friends I’ve made in B.I.R.D., I did know the friendship would come with limits. There’s only so much of my pain she can understand, as the access to things happening her job in Statistics offers isn’t very big.

 

“Mm, that’s a good point,” Delly nods, spinning on the chair across from me as she chews. I’ve noticed that habit since I’ve begun coming here whenever I get bored of the walls of either the gym or my apartment. That fact alone doesn’t make me feel much better about my situation, because not long ago I was surrounded by agents that looked down to those that were stuck in Statistics. I like this company, tough. Delly takes my mind off things and she doesn’t blame me when she doesn’t get whatever she’s doing on her computer done on time. Her colleagues aren’t bad either. There’s a group of girls that amuse themselves by stealing glances at me and then giggling behind their computers. I didn’t mind it until Delly took it upon herself to tease me. All I did in response was nod and smile, because opening my mouth would eventually mean starting a conversation about actual romantic relationships and that’s a sore subject for mostly everyone.

 

"Oh!" Delly squeaks in surprise and my gaze shoots up. Hers is focused on something behind me.

 

"Don’t turn around," she rushes to say and I fight the instinct to do exactly the opposite.

 

"What is it?"

 

"Who," she corrects, looking intrugued. "Some girl walked in a few minutes ago. I only noticed her because she’s not from this team. And because she’s taken to creepily gaping at the back of your head."

 

I sigh, leaning back. Statistics girls are more than enough. “Do I have to remind you it’s against protocol to be romantically involved with anyone on any level in any…”

 

"It’s good to know you follow the rules," Delly interrupts me with a hesitant smile. "But I have never seen her before, Peeta. And everyone goes through Statistics at one point or another."

 

That grabs my attention. An intruder? No way, we are one of the most secure buildings in the country. No one gets through the entrance and past security without a badge. Each department requires a fingerprint scan. To access higher levels than 7 (floors above 14), you go through an eye scanner as well. Non-agents are always escorted.

 

What would this stranger need me for?

 

"She’s coming. We might’ve been a bit too obvious."

 

I make the quick decision to turn around. Better face the truth before it’s forced on you.

 

Yet somehow I don’t believe any preparation could’ve gotten me any more ready to face her again.

 

Months ago, she would’ve stood out to me in a crowd. I had her face, her posture, even the slightest details like her braid and the dark green jacket that she always wears, memorized as if my life depended on remembering them. The problem is, Katniss Everdeen no longer represents those things.

 

Her hair is the first thing that prolongs the time it takes me to recognize her. It’s still long and dark, but in a neat ponytail down her back. It no longer hides her face and for the first time I’m able to study her features not from a picture, but from the real thing. Her eyes are grey, but somehow… brighter. In her mug shot, she was close to scowling and though she most certainly isn’t smiling now, she doesn’t look murderous either. Her clean white shirt, tucked in a beige skirt, would never suggest she didn’t have a home up to 3 months ago. Apparently she’s feeling pretty cozy in B.I.R.D.

 

Though I hadn’t seen her since she ran away after stabbing Glimmer’s hand, I knew she was caught by another agent and brought here for interrogation. That’s all the information Haymitch gave me during the briefing which was really brief with my partner in the hospital and me still in shock over my breakdown. I think what saved my ass from getting fired immediately were the two words that I had uttered before the black jeeps showed up. “I can’t.” Since then, I’ve been telling the story of how they actually meant I couldn’t find Katniss instead of couldn’t shoot Katniss. Haymitch stared at me, unconvinced, for a long time. When I saw the file, the lie was on there anyway.

 

“Peeta?” I head Delly’s concerned voice from behind me.

 

Katniss stops walking as if she’s expecting me to make the last 3 or 4 steps. “I’ll talk to you later Delly, okay?” We share a quick final nod, but I can still feel her eyes on me as I make my way to the other girl.

 

I don’t know what I expected her to do. Say something? Yes, words from her would be a first. Hit me? A possibility for sure. Instead all we do for more than a few minutes is size each other up. Or at least that’s what she does as her eyes wander everywhere until they climb back to my own that had hardly left hers.

 

“Peeta,” she states as if that’s a normal start to a conversation, especially a first conversation. I realize I want to hear her say more words, not only to ease the tension, but for me to hear her voice.

 

“Katniss,” I respond in the same tone despite how weird it is. Then there’s more staring. I even raise an eyebrow in expectance, but she refuses to budge.

 

“Are you supposed to apologize or something?” I finally give in. Criminals that act like complete asses always have fewer privileges in prison. I wouldn’t put it past Haymitch to make someone do something as embarrassing simply because he can. He’s famous for using his power in inappropriate ways.

 

So when Katniss snorts, I’m taken off guard. “And why would I do that?” She even has the nerve to look offended.

 

“I don’t know, so you can have dessert in prison?” My voice is sarcastic, but I still shift nervously.

 

“Prison?”

 

“Yeah, you know, that place where criminals like you go.”

 

The surprise on her face quickly turns to hurt, but she swallows it down. I look away. Most of the agents are occupied with work, but there’s a small part that’s become very interested in our conversation.

 

“Well, you don’t always end up where you’re supposed to,” Katniss tells me, staring deeply into my eyes.

 

Defeated, I sigh and point towards the doors. “Let’s not do this here.”

 

“Where are we going?” Katniss demands the second we are outside the office.

 

I take two more frustrated steps forward before I turn around. This day has taken a turn I did not expect. I’ve been itching for work since May, but a mission marked as complete is never something I’d want. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

 

“I might.” I watch as she brings her hand up and opens her palm. A key.

 

“Who gave you this?” I question suspiciously.

 

“Haymitch Abernathy. Along with your name.”

 

“So you’re good at finding people?” I don’t know why that’s the one thing I ask. I could ask her how is she walking around unshackled and without security. She could’ve killed them, for all I know. Haymitch, too. All the people she asked for my whereabouts. Yes, my next question should definitely be a smarter one.

 

“I’m not bad,” she says simply.

 

I don’t take my eyes off her as I carefully grab the object from her still open palm. There’s a small bird in flight etched in the middle of the golden key. The realization doesn’t take long. I begin to suspect the reason why she came to me, whether she knows it or not. And I’m going to have to go through with it, whether I want it or not.

 

“It’s not far from here. Follow me.”  


 

→

 

The main B.I.R.D building in New York has 20 floors, all intended for work and used both by field agents and office agents. The agency, however, has many deviations – prisons, hospitals… The adjacent building is ours, as well. It’s a residence of sorts. It’s where some agents live – most by choice, others… not so much.

 

"What is this place?" Katniss asks. She looks as baffled as I am, like she really has no idea what’s going on.

 

"Your new home," I tell her simply, closing the door that says 12.8 on the back of it.

 

Her eyes lock to mine in disbelief, before she turns around and takes a few steps around the small apartment. When she faces me again, I can see an excitement building up inside her, hidden behind doubt.

 

Squinting, she comes to a stop right in front of me. “He plans to spy on me, doesn’t he?”

 

"We’re spies. It’s what we do." I shrug, as if I have any idea what Haymitch would want from a criminal except to see them behind bars. "Not just anyone gets this treatment. You must be something very special."

 

Katniss looks down, crossing her arms. I’ve stumbled upon something. Hopefully it’ll help me look like less of an idiot during the chat I plan to have with my handler very soon.

 

"These past months… I spoke to many people. At first they were just dragging numbers out of me - victims, stolen items... I had surrendered already, it didn’t require much work," she admits, her voice soft. "Then I was sent to sleep in a locked room, but it wasn’t a cell. The next morning I had to explain how I planned my robberies. Every little detail was written down. It wasn’t as easy to get me to talk about myself, my past, but it happened eventually. It kept happening until they had enough to write a biography." She looks at me quickly before she begins pacing, her fingers skimming the plain walls.

 

"The last part was in some lab. They took tests, a lot of them." Leaning against a wall, she faces me again. "I just… why would they go through all that? It’s become pretty clear they don’t see me as a prisoner. What am I, then?" The only reason she’s as willing to share the story is so I could interpret it for her. But how do I tell her she could very possibly be becoming a weapon?

 

“I don’t know,” I shake my head. “But I plan to find out.”


End file.
